Small Black Pearls

The goose stares me down.
His comrades mill about, content in the background,
But this one, this cheeky bastard,
Walks right up to me,
Stands maybe three feet from my feet,
Cocky chap, head erect,
Eyes small black pearls focused on me.

There are ducks on the river,
Maybe twenty or so right near me,
The breeze, firm, ripples the Rock River.
The ducks do not seem to mind.
The goose’s gaze does not waver;
He is fixated on my eyes,
I am not accustomed to such attention.

I wish I could compare it to a past boyfriend,
The intensity and purpose of the gaze, that is,
One can skewer or adulate an individual
With a gaze bearing such intensity.
I stare back at him,
Hoping thereby to convey my own sense
Of purpose and perhaps menace.
This is not a goose to be fucked with.

I’ve been looked at once before,
By the man I wish I were with now,
An actor, he was, and a talented one,
He loved me, I think,
But I wasn’t yet out and was scared.
When we parted for the last time,
He fixed me in place with his eyes,
This same stare I see now
In some stupid goose in a downtown park.
Why should it make me think of him?
I think of him often,
But never in this context.

The goose does not move.
I contemplate options.
I could throw a stone — there’s one nearby,
I could use my flashlight app on my iPhone,
(This is 2014, after all)
Or I could just get up and walk away;
That worked with him so many years ago.

Funny how so many problems can be resolved
Just by walking away.
It’s the simplest answer
To the most intractably difficult questions
One that fails to resolve anything.
I’ve walked away from more problems than I’ve solved
And what have I gained?
A bum liver and grad school applications
For a university job I’m probably not
Cut out to actually do,
A lonely heart which is no hunter
Lacking anything to hunt.
I suppose I could hunt the goose,
Make a nice Christmas dinner in July.
But no; one, I don’t eat animals
Two, this is one mean fucker —
I don’t know that I could kill him
Before he killed me.

Small black pearls gleaming with malice.
I close my book and leave him to his dark intent.

~ by Benji on July 22, 2014.

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